Black Coma
by 10111993
Summary: Spontaneous one shot between Don and Charlie. After a pursuit gone wrong, Don is in a coma for three works. An introspective view of what one thinks when the other is going to die. Very fluffy, may be cheesy at times. An attempt at recognizing that anguish we know is there.


**I guess people need an explanation before hand - the teeth marks are from biting his arm to keep from making noise and to distract himself with the pain. **

Rolling a piece of chalk between his fingers, Charlie Eppes stared at the empty board in front of him. He stood with his back to his desk, ignoring the conspicuous object that lay in the middle of it. His hand hovered over the smooth slate, trembling almost imperceptibly.

Putting his hand down would only exacerbate what he already knew.

A strangled cry leapt from his lips as he threw the chalk across the room. The silver object on his desk vibrated again, the fifth time that hour. Charlie stared sightlessly past it. Numbers. He could not go back to the numbers._ He_ didn't want him to go back to the numbers. So he wouldn't. Giving in, he bent forward with an anguished howl.

* * *

"Donny!" Alan let his book fall to the floor as his oldest's eyes flickered open. "Donny, oh my sweet boy," he crooned. Scooting his chair forward, the grey haired Eppes placed a hand on his son's.

"Dad?" Rough, discordant, the voice was still music to Alan's ears.

"Oh Donny, we were so worried," Alan breathed, a hitch in his breath.

Don Eppes blinked blearily as the world came into focus around him. The darkness retreated to the back of his mind until it vanished, and then Don found himself in a hospital.

He was aware in vague way, without moving, that something hurt although he could not pinpoint it. A morphine drip hung to his left - doing its job steadily and effectively. The FBI agent felt strangely foggy and muddled. He directed troubled brown eyes to his father, who met him with an agitated gaze of his own.

Don cleared his throat experimentally.

"What happened?" He croaked, but did not hear Alan's response as a storm of nurses charged into his room. For the next half hour he was barraged with questions and instruments. Another hour was spent with the MRI, and it was another hour and a half after that when he was finally left alone with his father again.

The highly annoyed FBI agent looked at Alan, determined to get an answer.

"What the hell is going on here?" Came the irate question.

"You were clipped in the head Donnie. You we- you were out in the field when that bastard you were hunting came around the corner." Alan sounded perilously close to tears. "Megan told me." A pause. "Your neurologist should be up here any minute now."

Silence fell between the two men.

A million thoughts ran through Don's mind, but the conspicuous absence of one family member ran at the forefront.

"Where's Charlie?"

"At work," Alan replied.

Don felt his brows furrow. How long had he been out?

Alan sighed and gripped his son's hand tighter. "You've been out three weeks Donnie."

* * *

Said professor sat on the floor of his office in pitch darkness, leaning against a corner wall.

Charlie felt comfortably numb aside from the soreness of his stomach muscles and his forearm. In the low lighting no one could see the results of three weeks. His jacket was strewn over the desk, his shirt clinging to the perspiration on his chest. His left sleeve hung loosely where teeth had ripped into it in the suppression of agony.

The utter blackness was comforting. A temporary void in which he did not have to think or feel but could abandon all tethers of reality.

The flashing blue light of a screen broke the bubble. Charlie realized he had fifteen minutes until his next seminar but reached for the phone anyway, grasping at it with thick sausage like fingers.

"Dad?"

And suddenly the darkness was being sucked away.

* * *

Don groaned. Shit. Three weeks? His thoughts flew to his team. _I wonder who Merrick replaced me with,_ he thought idly. It was going to be another few weeks at the minimum before he could even think about going back to the job. If his father had anything to do with it, it would be another six months. If at all. Don carefully adjusted his head to look at his father. Even asleep Alan looked as if he had aged another five years. Don felt his stomach muscles tighten with guilt.

. Looking back up at the ceiling, Don thought about it his brother.

_Teaching. Good. Then he won't do that stupid P vs P thing again. _It had surprised Don that his father hadn't said anything further, nor looked particularly worried on the subject. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or offended that his brother seemed to be holding up so well.

* * *

Charlie sat in the stairwell and held his head between his legs. _Breathe in, breathe out._ He'd never been good at confronting his problems, and the problem that sat two stories up was a sizable one. _I wish, for just fucking once, I could hold it together like Don. Just once. _Being a genius meant shit when you didn't have the social integrity to function.

Well. It was now or never. He had once chance to do this right, and he didn't want it end with him collapsing on his brother. For once, Don could lean on him instead.

Charlie ran a hand through his black curls nervously. Getting up, he started up the stairs towards the ICU.

Don heard the soft steps before he saw his brother.

"Hey buddy." Cracking open his eyes, Don looked sideways.

"Hey Don." Charlie had come around the curtain but stopped, seemingly overwhelmed. After a minute of silence he walked over to the chair their father had vacated.

"How'r you?" Don asked drowsily. Charlie chuckled, and Don smiled at the welcome sound. Maybe things were going to be okay.

"I'm fine – more to the point, how are you?" Charlie asked drily. "You were the one shot in the head – I've only lost a few hours sleep." Don exhaled as the proverbial elephant quickly dissipated.

"Only a few hours?" Don joked. He watched as his brother smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Charlie looked away awkwardly and just as suddenly the elephant was back.

"Hey, c'mon Buddy, I'm fine," he smiled, reaching out a hand to touch his brother.

Charlie grabbed it softly, giving it a squeeze.

"You haven't been doing that P vs P thing again have you?"

"No Don." Charlie sounded slightly irritated. Don chuckled and then grimaced. Charlie watched him carefully, and Don in turn watched him.

It finally struck Don what was wrong – Charlie was too composed. A few shades whiter than usual perhaps, but his face was perfectly censored, eyes that had always been windows straight to his soul now shuttered with self-preservation. He remembered Alan's comments, remarking on how well his brother was coping.

_No Charlie, don't end up like me. Don't do what I do – and hold it in. You don't want to go there. _

_"_Trust me," Charlie said heavily, "I have not been holding it in."

Don continued to look at Charlie, wondering if he stared long enough he could get a glimpse inside that cavernous head. There was a subtle shift in his eyes, and it spoke of a deep grief that Don had seen before, in his own dreams.

Don felt his own heart ache a little as his brother's carefully schooled features began to crumble.

"I-I've been teaching my advanced actuarial courses," Charlie blurted, and began rambling into a summary of his semester coursework. Don smiled, eyes crinkling, and nodded but of course understood absolutely nothing of what his brother said.

Don reflected on who his brother had become, the teacher that stood confidently and taught passionately, devoting himself to guiding others. He was being more of a brother to his students than Don had ever been to Charlie, Don realized.

Charlie finally stopped and blew out a breath. "Sorry, I don't want to bore you," he apologized.

Don looked at him incredulously. "No, no, I like hearing about that stuff – your students, your work and all that." Charlie looked dubious and Don relented. "All right, so a little of that goes over my head. I know I haven't always appreciated you in the past buddy, but I sure do right now." The soft tone and look that his older brother gave him hit Charlie in the chest like a sandbag. And suddenly it seemed like it had gotten into his lungs, because each breath felt heavier than the next.

"Don." He cleared his throat.

Charlie was looking at the ground now, and though his name came in a steady tone Don knew his brother was feeling the exact opposite. He lifted his left arm and trailed a hand through his brother's hair, recalling when Charlie had used to sleep with him as a kid, tucked into his side and hair sprawled across his chest.

"Don," Charlie's voice broke. "I thought you were dead." He looked up.

The brown orbs held the universe, and it told Don that it was imploding. The life in them was flickering, needing any surface but utterly dependent on oxygen_. _And when his brother's head leaned forward onto the bed's railing and the keening sound emerged, he felt his own universe reorienting itself. Something physical, something fiscal moved in him, and he found himself leaning forward, bringing Charlie's head to his chest in one sure movement.

When he saw the teeth marks he felt the rest of something shift into place.

"I'm here buddy," he said hoarsely. "I'm not going anywhere."

And he held the center of his universe tighter in his arms.


End file.
